


Laying the Linework

by Sexxica



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Alternate Universe - Tattoos, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Captain John Watson, Condoms, Flirting, M/M, Praise Kink, Rimming, Safer Sex, Tattoo Artist Sherlock, Tattooed John, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 21:26:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5717638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sexxica/pseuds/Sexxica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John was on leave, back in London for just a few days, and there was only one thing on his mind -- he wanted fresh ink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laying the Linework

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Deaflock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deaflock/gifts).



> Written for Deaflock who was one of the winners in my December fic giveaway! She requested Johnlock with tattoos and praise kink, so here it is!
> 
> See the end notes for the inspiration for John's tattoo.

John was on leave, back in London for just a few days, and there was only one thing on his mind -- he wanted fresh ink.  There was a bundle of notes in his pocket along with a shop and artist's name, an address scrawled out on a napkin by a fellow soldier whose work John had admired.  The Science of Tattooing the place was called, which was odd, for a start, but the man had warned him that it wasn’t going to be quite the usual experience, and that the artist himself, one Sherlock Holmes, was far from ordinary.  

He walked through the door of 221B Baker Street, and up to the first floor shop.  The room was cluttered, but clean, with a drawing table in one corner, a desk and filing cabinet in the other, and a massage table right in the middle.  There were sketches and stencils posted up on nearly every wall of varying sizes and complexity and all of them were beautiful.  There was a thin man hunched over the drawing table, his hair a dark mess of curls, and it seemed he hadn’t heard John come in.

John cleared his throat quietly and watched that head rise and turn slowly toward him.  John nearly gasped -- the man was gorgeous.  His jawline, his profile, his lips, and good god his eyes!  John was at a loss for what colour they even were, but they were sharp and shifting and incredible.

“Appointment?” the man asked pointedly, sounding more annoyed than anything at the prospect of a customer.

“Uhh, no, no, I was given the name of this shop by a mate of mine.  I’m John Watson,” he answered, trying not to stare as the man stood up.  He was lean and tall and wearing tight, dark jeans and a faded black tshirt with the collar loose from wear.  Amazingly John couldn’t see any tattoos anywhere on his pale skin.

“A mate,” the man said, looking like the word tasted foreign in his mouth.

“Yes, a mate.  You’re Sherlock Holmes, right?” 

“Of course,” Sherlock answered, sounding like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Listen, if you don’t have time today …” John started before being interrupted.

“What do you want?” Sherlock asked brusquely. 

“Well, I’ve got some space here,” John said, covering his left pectoral with his hand, “And I thought I would just look at your flash, or portfolio or...”  John trailed off.

“So you don’t know,” Sherlock said and John started to feel defensive under the perceived criticism. 

“Like I said, if you don’t have time,” John reiterated.

“Take your shirt off,” he said, stepping closer to John as if he would do it for him if John wasn’t quick enough.

“Bossy, you are,” John smirked as he pulled off his jacket, setting it on a chair before he started on his shirt buttons.  He watched Sherlock’s thus far stony expression flicker for a moment, and in that brief second he looked five years younger and like John could eat him alive.

“J-just,” he stuttered, “Need to know what I’m working with.”  John thought he saw a blush creep up onto those high cheeks now too.  Oh, this was very interesting now.

John pulled his shirt tails out of his trousers, slipping it off his shoulders and setting it aside with his jacket.  The man, Sherlock, narrowed his eyes, staring at him like his skin was a work of art, which in a way, it was.  John was covered in tattoos.  He collected them everywhere he went, gathering new styles and symbols and designs all permanently etched onto his skin.  Some had meaning, like the Rod of Asclepius on his bicep, but many were just beautiful things that John wanted to keep with him forever.

Sherlock circled him like a shark, lifting his arms and touching certain pieces and John just let him.  It was something he had gotten used to over the years, although no one had ever been quite so thorough or looked so intent while doing it before.  “Are there more?” Sherlock asked and John laughed out loud.

“Yeah, but I guess I’m a little reluctant to show you if you won’t tell me whether or not you have time for me today,” John said with a smile, thinking that maybe the opportunity to see more would convince Sherlock to actually give him an answer.

Sherlock just stared at him for a moment before going over to his desk and rifling through some papers.  “I have time,” he answered, going back over to John.

“How much for something this size?” John asked, indicating the bare spot on his chest again.

Sherlock practically rolled his eyes at him as if what John had asked was the most boring thing in the entire world.  “I’ll make you a deal,” Sherlock said.

“A deal?”

“Yes.  You let me do whatever I want, no stencil, no approval, and I’ll do it for free.”

John barked out a laugh at that.  “Are you serious?”

“Entirely.”

“Whatever you want, but you’ll do it for free?  No charge at all?” 

“That’s what I said, is it not?”

John couldn’t help but laugh again.  A free tattoo was usually something to be avoided at all costs, but Sherlock’s work was mind-blowing, some of the most gorgeous and original that John had ever seen.  It was an opportunity that he wasn’t going to pass up.  He had to admit that getting the chance to admire Sherlock himself for another few hours may have influenced his decision a small amount as well.  “Yeah, yeah okay, whatever you want.  I’ll take it.”

“Show me the rest first,” Sherlock said and John toed off his shoes and started on his flies.

“Won’t your girlfriend get jealous?” John asked.

John watched as Sherlock swallowed, that beautiful throat working nervously around it.  “Not really my area,” he said and John smiled to himself as he pushed his jeans off his hips.  Army life meant he had no shame when it came to getting his kit off, and he had nothing at all to be ashamed of anyway.  His jeans joined the rest of his clothes in their pile on the chair.

John crossed his arms over his chest, standing feet hip width apart in just his slim-fitting black pants as Sherlock looked at him.  Particularly, John noticed, he stared at the front of John’s pants for a long, conspicuous moment before he managed to pry his eyes to the ink on his thighs, his calves, and particularly one that sat low on his hipbone, partially covered by his pants.  John hooked a thumb in the waistband, unasked, and pulled it low to reveal the whole work.  He heard Sherlock’s breath catch and beamed inwardly.  Oh yes, very interesting. 

“You can,” Sherlock squeaked, coughed, started again, “You can put your jeans back on, I’ll get you your paperwork and get set up.”

John was sure he saw him blush this time.  He took his time putting his jeans back on before he filled out the couple pages of information that Sherlock needed.  He took a seat to watch him set up, seeing him pull out bottle after bottle of different coloured inks.  Reds and blues and greens and oranges and everything between and beyond.  John had no idea what Sherlock was planning for him.  

Sherlock carefully filled so many little single use cups with ink that John lost count.  Then Sherlock prepared his machines, inspecting each sterile packed needle with a magnifying eye loupe for any imperfections.  It was fascinating to watch.  Sherlock was so orderly, so perfectly tidy and precise with everything in its place.  It seemed so different from his art, which was loose and expressionist, almost messy, like the rest of his workspace.

Finally Sherlock put some paper sheeting over a chair.  “Have a seat, Mr. Watson,” Sherlock said and John did so.

“It’s just John, but if you’re going to use my last name, it’s  _ Captain _ Watson,” John winked as Sherlock sat down a little harder than he intended in his chair, making it roll back unexpectedly.  John didn’t fail to notice. 

“Right, umm, John,” Sherlock said, wheeling his chair back into position and snapping on a fresh pair of gloves.  He picked up a pen, slotting himself close to John with a leg on either side of John’s left knee.  He put a gloved hand in the center of John’s chest, not even hesitating as he moved the pen in confident strokes over John’s skin.  John couldn’t help but notice from this distance the way Sherlock’s eyelashes brushed against his cheeks, and how nice he smelled.

“So, what’s it going to be then?” John asked, not really able to tell what it was that Sherlock was drawing on his chest.

“You’ll find out,” Sherlock said, looking up at John with his eyes sparkling.

John smiled at him, feeling the slight twinge of nervous excitement he still got everytime he got inked.  This was even more exciting than usual because John had no idea what it was going to look like, and so far, watching Sherlock work was fascinating.

The tattoo machine buzzed to life, needle loaded with black ink to start on the linework.  “Ready?” Sherlock asked, one hand still warm and firm on John’s chest, the other holding the readied machine.  

“Ready,” John answered, and Sherlock set to work.  The first touch of the needle was always the worst, and John felt it cut into his chest like a razor blade, like his skin was being sliced open and separated.  He knew it wasn’t, but the sharp, thin bite of the liner needle as Sherlock ran it over his skin sure felt like it.  John already felt his adrenaline start to spike in response.

John could tell that some of the lines were straight, some short, some long, and some of them were curved, but beyond that, he had no clue what Sherlock was creating.  The only thing he could do was sit back and relax as best he could, keeping still for Sherlock, who it seemed like to work quietly.  There wasn’t even music playing, but John found the silence surprisingly okay, even comfortable.  He sunk into it and the familiar feel of adrenaline starting to course through his veins, making him tremble slightly, but feel so good, almost high.

It was only a little over an hour when the linework was done and Sherlock was cleaning off John’s chest, wiping off the excess ink and the bit of blood that had started to seep out.  John winced and hissed in a breath.  He always thought that all the wiping was the worst part.  “Would you like to take a break?” Sherlock asked, rolling his chair back and setting the one machine on his worktable, peeling off and binning his gloves.

“Yeah, could I get a glass of water?” John asked, and Sherlock nodded, going behind a curtain that lead to another room and coming back with a glass of water for John.

John stood up and took it, enjoying the chance to stretch for a minute, and to look at more of Sherlock than the top of his head.  God, he really was gorgeous, bordering on too skinny, but John hadn’t failed to notice the round swell of his arse in those tight jeans.  John smiled at him over the top of his glass.  “So how long have you been in business then?” John asked.

“Two years,” Sherlock answered.

“Oh yeah? That’s great.  Your work is phenomenal,” John said as he took another sip of water.

“Thank you,” Sherlock said, his gaze shifting away from John to the floor.  

“I really mean that, Sherlock.  I’ve never seen anything as original as your stuff.  It’s brilliant, you’re brilliant,” John said, wanting to test his theory that the attraction went both ways.

This time, Sherlock flushed up from his collar to the tips of his ears.

“Should, uh, should we get back to it?” Sherlock said, his voice shaky.

“Yeah, alright,” John said, downing the rest of his water and getting comfortable in the chair again.  It was time for all of those colours now, but John dreaded the process slightly.  Linework hurt, but it was over quickly, and generally each line was only gone over once.  Colouring, shading, those bundles of needles going over and over each spot multiple times,  _ that _ was painful.  But, John could handle it, his adrenaline was still going strong.  Actually, it was making him a touch giddy, but maybe that was just Sherlock and the way he blushed and shied under John’s attentions.

John watched Sherlock pull another pair of gloves on and wrap his long fingers around a fresh tattoo machine, loaded with a shading needle.  He sat back in the chair, his arms gripping the armrests as Sherlock wheeled close to him again.  John liked having the heat of him there, on either side of his thigh, and the constant steadying pressure of his one hand on his chest.  

John couldn’t help it -- before Sherlock raised the needle, John let his leg sway out just a little, resting his knee against the inside of Sherlock’s thigh.  The small, conceivably accidental bit of physical contact had an immediate effect on Sherlock.  John heard his breath catch, watched his pupils go dark as he rested his hand holding the tattoo machine on the edge of his workbench and looked up wide-eyed at John.

“Oh,” John said, feigning ignorance, “sorry about that.”  He smiled as he moved his knee away again.

“It … It’s okay,” Sherlock said breathily, and taking a moment before he raised his hand again.  “Ready to go again?”

“Absolutely,” John grinned. 

John gritted his teeth against the pain as Sherlock worked that myriad of colours into his skin.  It seemed endless, but John knew that Sherlock was working quickly, no doubt able to work even quicker because the idea was all his.  He didn’t even have John’s input to consider.  So the needles worked their way across John’s  skin in Sherlock’s steady hand, his face the perfect picture of concentration.

Two more breaks and hours later it was finished.  Sherlock carefully wiped the excess ink and blood from John’s chest while John winced.  He skin felt raw and open, which of course, it was, and John was itching to see what it was that Sherlock had done for him.  “Mirror’s over there,” Sherlock finally said, pointing to a corner of the room, and John grinned as he got up, full of anticipation.

“Oh,” John breathed, “Oh,  _ Sherlock _ .  It’s … It’s stunning!”  John stared at his reflection, at the heart on his chest that was at once anatomically correct and artistically rendered.  It was a riot of colours all laid over the stark black outlines like a watercolour on his skin.  It was the most amazing piece that John had ever seen and it was all his.

He caught Sherlock’s eye in the mirror as he stood behind him, whirling around to face him.  “It’s incredible, gorgeous, Sherlock, I don’t even know what to say,” John babbled, unthinkingly stepping toward Sherlock.  “It’s perfect,” John added before he reached up and pulled Sherlock down to him, pressing a quick kiss to his mouth.  He didn’t even realize he had done it until it was already happening and his lips were flush with Sherlock’s.  He pulled back quickly and Sherlock stumbled backward, looking stunned. 

“Shit.  Shit, fuck, I’m so sorry,” John swore, “I just … I was so happy.  But it’s no excuse…”

And then Sherlock closed the distance between them, bending his head to kiss John back.  It was slow, almost tentative, but it was most certainly happening.  John reached up again to twine his fingers into Sherlock’s hair as he enjoyed the feel of Sherlock’s lips against his own.  Sherlock pulled back after a long moment, his cheeks flushed, his lips red.  “I-I need to bandage you up,” Sherlock stuttered.

“Of course,” John smiled softly, following Sherlock back to his workstation.  Sherlock pulled on another pair of gloves, opening a large, plastic-backed bandage and taping it  to John’s chest with trembling hands.  John caught his wrists when he was finished, rubbing his thumbs against the thin skin of them beneath the gloves.  “You know, you’re even more gorgeous than your work.  Which is really saying something,” John said, feeling Sherlock’s pulse flutter under his fingers.  “I think I know what you want, Sherlock,” John added, letting his voice slip low.  “I want it too.”

Sherlock’s breath caught in his throat, and John watched his pupils dilate even further, nearly blacking out all those shifting colours.  “I need you to tell me, Sherlock, tell me what you want,” John nearly growled, pulling Sherlock up to his chest.

Sherlock swallowed hard, taking in a shuddering breath as he stared at John.  “I want you to fuck me,” he whispered.

“Mmm,” John hummed, “tell me again.”

“I want you to you to fuck me,” Sherlock said, his voice breathy, unsure.

“Oh, that’s wonderful.  One more time for me.”

“I want you to fuck me,” Sherlock said, the hesitance gone from his voice.

“Gladly,” John rumbled, pulling Sherlock closer and kissing him hard.  Sherlock practically melted against him, throwing his arms around John’s neck.  John couldn’t resist running his hands down Sherlock’s back all the way to that plush arse and grabbing two handfuls of it.  Sherlock moaned into his mouth and John wanted to  _ devour _ him.  He backed him up against the nearest wall, pushing his knee between Sherlock’s thighs, feeling how hard he was inside his jeans as he pressed close.

“God I’m going to enjoy this,” John said, kissing his way over Sherlock’s jaw, and down to bite into that elegant column of his neck.  “I’m going to make sure you enjoy it too,” John added, hitching his thigh up so it rubbed against Sherlock, making him moan.  “Do you have any…?” John asked and Sherlock blinked at him for a moment.

“Oh, yes.  Of course,” he said before pushing away from the wall, binning the gloves he was still wearing and disappearing behind the curtain again.

Only a moment later he was back, condoms and a bottle of lube in hand.  John smiled, taking them from Sherlock and setting them aside, putting his hands on Sherlock’s hips and pulling him close again.   John kissed him, licking into Sherlock’s mouth as he slid his hands underneath his t-shirt, feeling his smooth, warm skin under his hands.  He grabbed the hem of it, breaking their kiss to peel it off over Sherlock’s head and John shook his head in disbelief.  

“Ah, so there’s your ink, then.  I was starting to wonder,” John said as he admired the work that flowed across Sherlock’s skin.  It all started below his collarbone, pure blackwork in intricate, swirling patterns skating down and over his ribs, all the way to curve around his hipbones.  It was the exact opposite of John’s mish-mash of styles and colours.  Sherlock’s tattoos were cohesive, like a single planned piece, but it must have taken years to finish.  

“Gorgeous,” John muttered under his breath, talking as much about the tattoos as he was about Sherlock’s body.  John had been right, he was just this side of too skinny, but the fact that it looked like John could break him in two was frankly only turning him on more.

“There’s, umm, there’s more,” Sherlock said, biting his lip, his cheeks pink.

“Oh?  Well, I showed you mine,” John said, trying to keep the smirk out of his voice as Sherlock’s hands went to his flies.  He watched closely as those long fingers opened the button and zip, then as Sherlock pushed those tight jeans off his slim hips.  John let out an appreciative hum when he realized Sherlock wasn’t wearing any pants, his slender cock jutting out from his dark patch of pubic hair.

Sherlock blushed harder as he stepped out of his shoes and jeans, standing there naked and aroused in front of John.  Sherlock’s tattoos snaked down his thighs too, wrapping around his calves and ending at the tops of  his feet.  “Turn around,” John rasped out, his own arousal evident as much in his voice as it was in his pants.

Sherlock turned on the spot and John could only stare in awe for a moment.  His back, unlike his front, was a riot of colour.  An abstract galaxy following the knobs of his spine and spilling out onto his backside.  It was stars and orbs and the phases of the moon, and again, it was all one cohesive piece.  Sherlock apparently had exacting standards and knew exactly what he wanted.  John felt honored to be included in the category of ‘things Sherlock wanted.’  

“God,” John breathed, stepping up to Sherlock to run his fingers down his spine.  “You’re amazing, Sherlock.” 

Sherlock whimpered quietly at John’s words and light touch, turning to an all-out whine as John herded him up against the wall again, this time with his front against it.  John kissed Sherlock’s shoulders, biting and licking his way down over all those colours until he was kneeling behind him.

“Wh-what are you?” Sherlock started, before his question was cut off in low, throaty groan as John spread his arse cheeks.  “ _ Fuck _ ,” Sherlock moaned as John licked, long and wet, over his hole.

John was merciless, licking him open until Sherlock’s face was pressed against the wall and his whole body was trembling.  John loved every second of it.  Every noise and shudder he drew out of Sherlock was new and wonderful and made his own erection throb inside his jeans.  And the feel of him, god.  He was tight and twitching, but he opened up beautifully with John’s tongue, and John bet he would be even better with his fingers deep inside of him.

John stood, kissing his way up Sherlock’s back this time, reaching over to where he had left the lube.  He squeezed some out onto his fingers, standing just to the side, but still pressed up against Sherlock’s back.  He kissed and sucked at Sherlock’s neck while he slid his fingers down between Sherlock’s arse cheeks, pushing them against his slick hole.  One finger slipped in without resistance, but the second made Sherlock moan at the bit of stretch.       

“More,” Sherlock whined.

“Hmm, you really  _ are _ bossy,” John muttered into Sherlock’s skin, twisting his two fingers inside of him, working him open.  “But I’m going to do this right.  I want you to remember me every time you sit down for the next few days, but I don’t want to hurt you,” John said, rolling his hips against Sherlock’s thigh, making sure he felt exactly what John was getting at.

Sherlock whined again, pushing back against John’s fingers.  John didn’t let him try that twice, pushing him harder against the wall and holding him there while he scissored his fingers inside of him. God, he was tight, but John revelled in how he slowly opened up for him, first with his tongue, and now with his fingers.  John decided to play dirty, grazing his fingertips against Sherlock’s prostate, just lightly, just once, but it was like Sherlock had been electrocuted.  A hard shudder ran through his body and he gasped, pulling air into his lungs as quickly as he could manage and then releasing it all in a breath of “oh, fuck,  _ John. _ ”

John groaned as he worked a third finger into Sherlock.  His name on those lips was sinful.  It spurred him on, wanting to hear it again and again until it was all Sherlock could say.  “That’s right, Sherlock, I told you I would make it good for you,” John said, angling his fingers again for another pass at Sherlock’s prostate.  Sherlock let his head drop forward and it thunked hard against the wall as he gave a throaty moan.  John watched a bead of sweat drip down Sherlock’s back.

John twisted and stretched his fingers inside Sherlock.  He was slick now, open, and nearly ready, which was good because John felt like he was going a bit mad.  Sherlock was so insanely gorgeous.  So perfect.  And the noises he was making made John’s cock ache with need.  He wanted to be inside Sherlock, inside that heat and tightness, and fuck him until they both collapsed, sated, exhausted, and John certainly hoped, happy.  “Almost there,” John said, starting to thrust his three fingers in and out of Sherlock, keeping it up until his knuckles stopped catching on his rim.

“There we go, Sherlock,” John said, slipping his fingers free.

“Finally,” Sherlock huffed and John couldn’t help but laugh as he stepped back from the heat of Sherlock’s body.  As soon as he did, Sherlock was on him, nearly tearing into his flies with those wonderful fingers, tugging John’s jeans and pants down so quickly that John nearly toppled over, having to steady himself on Sherlock’s shoulders.

John managed to step out of them without falling on his arse, thankfully, but he found himself against the edge of the massage table, Sherlock pressed close to him and wrapping a hand around his erection.  It was John’s turn to curse as Sherlock stroked him, bending his head to kiss John forcefully.  John moaned into it, pleasure sparking all too quickly down his spine.  

“Are you going to fuck me now?” Sherlock whispered into John’s mouth.

“God, yes,” John answered, groping blindly for a condom he knew had to be somewhere close.  Sherlock beat him to it, tearing open the package and popping the rubber into his mouth.  John’s eyes nearly rolled back in his head as Sherlock dropped to his knees, rolling the condom onto John’s stiff cock almost effortlessly with his mouth.  John reached down to card his fingers through Sherlock’s hair.  “Oh you’re incredible, you are,” John moaned as Sherlock pulled off slowly.

Sherlock stood back up, facing the wall, his arse pushed out temptingly.  “You want it?” John growled as he adjusted the condom, stepping up to Sherlock and rubbing his sheathed erection between Sherlock’s arse cheeks.

“Fuck, John, yes,” Sherlock said, his body full of tension, nearly quivering with it.

John held on to the base of his cock, lining himself up before he slid himself fully into Sherlock with a groan.  Sherlock slumped against the wall and John curled over him, peppering his shoulders with kisses.  “Alright?” John asked quietly as Sherlock breathed hard, his fingers curling against the wall.

“Will be once you start fucking me properly,” Sherlock said, his voice shaky but insistent.  

John braced one hand against the wall next to Sherlock’s, and gripped his hip with the other, drawing his hips back devastatingly slowly, letting Sherlock feel absolutely every inch of him before snapping his hips forward.  Sherlock gave a stuttered moan, his head dropping back against John’s shoulder.  “Y-yeah, like that,” he breathed and John angled for a kiss.

“Mmm, like that it is, then,” John murmured, starting up a push-pull rhythm, the slick, tight heat of Sherlock’s arse making him feel amazing.  He was slow on the drawback, then forceful in the thrust, and Sherlock’s pleased little mewls, and the way he writhed were all John needed to know that it felt good for him too.    

John slipped his hand from Sherlock’s hip, reaching around to grip Sherlock’s cock in a loose fist, starting to stroke him lazily as he fucked into him.  “Oh,” Sherlock moaned out, starting to rock himself between John’s hand and body, “Oh,  _ yes _ .”

Sherlock’s voice, the noises he was making, even his huffed breaths were driving John half mad now and he sped up the pace, fucking Sherlock fast and hard as he stroked his leaking cock.  “I want … want to see you,” John panted, “want to see your face when you come.”

“Christ,” Sherlock muttered, his voice a deep rumble in his chest.

“Turn around for me,” John said, pulling out and stepping back enough to give Sherlock space to do so.  He immediately backed Sherlock up against the wall again, kissing him fiercely on the mouth and running his hands down to Sherlock’s arse.  He hefted him up like he weighed nothing at all, and Sherlock obligingly wrapped his long limbs around John, crossing his ankles around his back and holding on tight to his shoulders, but not before he reached down, seating himself on John’s cock again.  “That’s better,” John said, starting to roll his hips, testing out how steady their position was.

Sherlock was so light, it was hardly anything for John to hold him up, and with a bit of leverage from the wall, soon John had Sherlock practically bouncing on his erection.  “Touch yourself,” John groaned, feeling sweat start to drip down his back.  “God I want to see you come,” John added, watching Sherlock wrap those elegant fingers around his slim cock.  “You look fucking gorgeous, feel so good, Sherlock.”

“Shut … shut up and fuck me,” Sherlock hiccuped, but his pupils were blown so wide, and his face and chest were so flushed that John was only driven on.

“No.  You love it when I compliment you, don’t you?” John asked, fucking into Sherlock deeper, rolling his hips.  Sherlock didn’t answer, just stroked his cock faster as he bit his lip.  “You brilliant thing.  So perfect.  You’re going to come so hard for me aren’t you?  I want to watch you lose control, Sherlock.  Oh fuck, god, I can’t hold out much longer.”

“More,” Sherlock groaned,  “John, more.”

“You’re incredible Sherlock, brilliant, amazing”

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Sherlock moaned out, his eyes fluttering closed as his legs tightened around John’s body, pulling him in impossibly close.  Sherlock’s body shook, his hand tugging his slick cock as he started to come.  It splattered up onto his chest and dripped down between them and John buried himself deep inside of Sherlock, letting the rippling waves of his orgasm milk him too.  He moaned, filling the condom inside of Sherlock as everything turned suddenly to heat and nerves and bliss.

Eventually Sherlock managed to unwrap his legs from John, and John let him slowly down to the floor, slipping off the condom and tossing it in the bin before he went back to kiss Sherlock, holding him close.  “God, incredible,” John breathed and he was sure Sherlock would have blushed if he wasn’t already so pink.  Sherlock, for his part, fiddled distractedly with the edge of John’s bandage.  He almost looked sad now.

“What?” John laughed, trying to lighten the mood, “Sherlock, what is it?”

“You’re going to go away now, aren’t you?”

“Well, umm, yeah,” John started awkwardly, scratching at the back of his head.  “I mean, I’m only on leave for a few days.”

“Right,” Sherlock said, sounding despondent.

John thought for a moment before he said anything else.  He really liked Sherlock.  He was gorgeous, his work was incredible, and John absolutely wanted to know him more, but there was nothing he could do about the fact he had to leave in just a few days.  He didn’t have any other plans for his leave though, other than the loose idea that he would meet up with some people for drinks.  “You, umm, you probably need to keep an eye on this though, right?” John asked pointing to the bandage on his chest.  

Sherlock blinked at him for a moment, probably not immediately understanding what John was actually saying.  They both knew that he knew how to look after a healing tattoo on his own.  That wasn’t the question.  “I probably shouldn’t go too far away for at least a couple days, yeah?” John smiled slyly.

“Oh,” Sherlock exclaimed, finally getting the message.  “I mean, yes, that would probably be best.”

“Actually, I don’t even have a place to stay, yet.  I could find somewhere close,” John said, crowding back in on Sherlock, kissing up his neck to bite lightly on his ear.

“I-I have a spare room,” Sherlock stuttered.

“Oh that’s very close.  Do you think we’ll need it?”

“God, no,” Sherlock said, his voice gone breathy again, and John all out grinned against his neck.

**Author's Note:**

> John's tattoo was inspired by the heart design you can see a little over halfway down [this page.](http://tattooboogaloo.com/deanna.html)
> 
> Thank you to my betas [Jaimi](http://jaimistoryteller.tumblr.com/) and  
> [Liz!](http://archiveofourown.org/users/HumsHappily)
> 
>    
> [Don't forget to follow me on Tumblr.](http://sexxicawrites.tumblr.com/)


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